Fearing Nothing
by RoibenRavus
Summary: Everyone has seemed to turn against Harry as the war continues. Will he crumble under the pressure? DH Mild Hints of SLASH.


**Fearing Nothing**

There are different kinds of pain.

Grief is sharp and delicate, a crystallized pain that keeps my mind on edge and my soul captive.

Regret is prickly. Pins and needles that prey on my mind at all times, waging a war against I until I are forced to retreat.

Anger is icy fire, a burning snowflake that can sting at any moment, sting with fire or with frost, with blind rage or icy composure.

Rejection, though. A dull ache, pain that is never cured, a hurt that is never relieved.

It is rejection I fear, the never-ending anguish, the endless and torturous, throbbing toothache of the mind.

I've experienced this agony for most of my life at the Dursleys, in first, second, third, fourth, fifth year at school. I've experienced it from family, friends, my godfather, and my teachers. Nevertheless, I am surprised at its tenacity. I am always surprised at the sharp touch of claws, ripping, tearing into me at my worst moment, my most desperate, most vulnerable, most childlike, innocent, wondering, yearning moments.

It is at these times that the hurt rises. And how it does hurt.

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I used to stride, skip, saunter.

I walk with my head down now, staring at my feet or at my hands or at nothing at all. I feel daggers of anger, grief, blame thrown at me from behind.

I used to laugh unabashedly, unapologetically, unashamedly.

Laughter is now nothing more than a furtive lie, brought forward by distant memories and hidden from sight.

I used to wear whatever was around, perhaps a bright green emerald sweater.

I've bought new clothes now, black because I can't imagine wearing anything else, can't imagine not being in grieving for the world I knew.

Face to face, I am met with fake cheerfulness, fake welcome.

Behind me, I am not welcome, not missed, not wanted.

Isolation is the most torturous of all devices.

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Sharp barbs are thrown at me through smiling teeth. At times in class I look around and change faces to fit attitudes.

The girl giving me a grin and a wink. A goblin there, full of sly meanness. I give a half smile back, and she is content.

A guy, making a face behind Flitwick's back. A warlock here, who lures me in before killing me softly. I give an obligatory shake of the head.

I wonder what I am doing in this classroom, in this school, in this life.

I wonder where else I could possibly go.

And then I feel it, as I always do. Grey eyes like ice, like broken glass, like shards of diamond, staring down at me in cruel amusement, challenging me. A falcon then. Watching all the time, giving me a distinct sense of danger, of imminent threat. Then sweeping down at the least falter in my step, or at the first sign of tiredness, to pick me up and tear me apart. Rip, tear, kill.

I turn back to my work, and feel the barbs start again.

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I see him after the class. I know that he is the only who sees through me, who sees into me, who sees the truth.

I approach him, pass him, barely look at him. And after I have passed, I look back and see him staring at me.

Later I believe that it was in this moment that I realised that only he could stop the ache of rejection inside of me, wake me up and make me live again.

Later I believe that it was in this moment that I began to breathe. Breathe, for the first time in all of my life.

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Time is a fickle beast.

In happiness it passes swiftly, in sadness slowly.

It rarely passes swiftly any longer. Every moment stretches until it becomes two, and then a third. Time becomes timeless.

It can make the heart grow fonder, or tear it into parts.

For the indestructible trio, time did not tear. It was a pull, an urge, a slow but inexorable nudge apart.

From three walking side by side, to one walking alone.

From three heads, to one. From three colours, to one. From three minds, to one.

From extensions of myself, to family, to friends, to strained and awkward acquaintances.

It did not come through betrayal or fights or jealousy or offence. It came through time.

Time is a fickle beast. It is determined to change me, ravage me, pillage and plunder me.

And yet I know, as always, the beast can not win.

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The other confronts me finally. Backs me into a hole in the wall and stares at me.

Stands in front of me and invades me, my space, my time, my mind.

Says simply, "It hurts when it should not?"

I look at him. Wonder silently how he knew.

"I see it. I see you react when you'd rather not. I see you notice their indifference when you would not. I see you acknowledge their anger and their hypocrisy when you should not. I see you try to fade into the background, when Merlin knows you could not."

And still I stand there mute, staring at the cold grey eyes and the smirk playing across his lips.

"Their attitudes are just heckling. They are small humourless enjoyments for small humourless lives. You are beyond it and above it. You must surpass it."

He moves behind I and turns I so that I are forced to look out of the hidden alcove to the hallway beyond.

"Beauty they may have. Cunning, intelligence, charm, wit, loyalty they may have. But they do not have it all."

The side of his face grazes yours as he speaks to my ear.

"You can have it all. We can have it all. Unleash yourself, unleash you power. See them for the harmless innocents they are. One day you will realise that you don't need their opinion, their praise, their loyalty. One day you will realise this and know that you don't even want it anymore. Don't be broken anymore. Stand up, let them know that as many times as they cut you down you will get straight back up."

Blond hair moves against mine as he moves even closer to me, running his hands up and down my arms. I glance at him and see that he is staring fixedly into the crowd. It is almost beautiful.

"We can control the game. We can stop them from killing you slowly, taking your soul. We can wake them up – you are their leader and you are their saviour. They have no choice. It is your choice. It is our choice. We control the game."

He turns his head now and stares into my eyes. His face is flushed, almost feverish, and I admit to yourself that he is beautiful.

I finally speak.

"We are the masters then?"

He concurs.

"We are the future."

I smile at him and feel the first true excitement I have had for many years. It is as though he has woken me from the deepest of slumbers, like the cunning, sly, vengeful and strong part of my mind has been renewed. The moment is broken. He smiles back, briskly rubs my arms and slips off into the crowd.

I watch him go, still smiling.

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I take his advice.

I look around and I see people on dates, people gossiping, people shooting me furtive looks.

I realise that they are children, even at seventeen. I realise that they have faced trials, some have even faced death.

I realise that no one has aged like me, no one has experienced all that I have. I realise that even if they all reach Dumbledore's age, no one will age like me or experience what I have.

I envy them that.

One day, I will get over that.

One day, I will no longer be afraid of rejection. Maybe he can help.

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I take his advice.

I look at myself and decide that it is time to unleash. After moments and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years and an entire lifetime spent pretending, spent hiding, spent guarding, I decide that it is time to unleash. And unleash I do.

I no longer walk with my head down. I lift my face and as people become interested at the change, at the difference, at_ me_ again, I smirk in cold amusement.

I buy new clothes and as people wonder how I can focus on fashion when I should be saving the world, I smirk in satisfaction. My suspicions are validated – they no longer see me as a person, as a life, as a soul. They see me as a saviour, but I am not going to let that, let them, crush me down again.

I let go of my power and as people become scared at the extent of it, I smirk in pride at my achievements.

I let go of my inhibitions, and as people look at me in tentative awe, I smirk in abandon.

I refuse to give into my fear of pain, fear of rejection. I make my life mine again; I bask in the pain until I am numb to it. I live my life without fear now.

This is what I've always known was within me, this is what I knew my life could be and what they refused to see. This is me waking in the morning and getting out of bed. This is me looking forward to simple pleasures.

I look forward to wearing the clothes no one but me bought, I like making achievements and reaching heights that have never been breached before.

I am making them see it now; I am making them take a small glimpse at me.

I know, somewhere inside I know, that in a matter of days they will forget me again, forget the fresh new life I have made. But the fact that they have seen it - have seen me for only a moment- has helped me continue to breathe again, helped me continue to draw in shards of life.

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I find a release from intensity with him.

I sit with him in silence, late at night, and I find release, I find peace. I don't know when this began exactly, just before Christmas, just after?

I don't know how I knew to come out here, or how he knew that I needed him. I don't know why I come each night, I don't know how long I stay. I barely know where I are, just a vague direction to where I find myself every night.

I don't know why he bothers to return. I look at him in the moonlight and watch his white gold hair shine silver. I look at him in the starlight and see his face removed from all masks, from all bravado. I see him and I wonder if I've ever seen that beauty before.

I wonder if I should be allowed to.

I wonder why, even after all I have done to let others see the real I, only he does.

I wonder why everyone else still only sees what they want to.

They saw me as a failed saviour. Now they see me as a villain they failed to save.

And only he sees me for what I am. Not a saviour, not a villain. I am an anti-saviour and an anti-villain. I am human and I am fallible and I am drowning in life, in the intensity of each breath.

And yet. And yet.

And yet, with him, late at night without time or space or reason, I find peace. And release.

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It is the day before the vacation starts. I have spoken to only him for perhaps four months. And how he has changed me, more than the beast of time ever could.

He is my only friend, but instead of feeling alone I feel instead fulfilled. I know that even with my own self emancipated from restraints, only he can truly see me and only I can truly see him.

This makes me proud.

This makes me humble.

This makes me love him more than I ever thought I could.

This makes me feel unworthy of the love that he has said he feels for me.

And I sit there with him on the last night we have, in a clearing in a forest far from all I know. And now all I know is the shape of his hand in mine, the sight of him sitting in front of me, cradled against me. And I know that this is all I need.

This is what I live my life for.

And this complete dependence on another person should scare me. But it doesn't. It couldn't. It isn't sick and it isn't dangerous. He is a part of me now, and even if he left I would have him as part of me for the rest of my life. But he won't leave, because I know that he has the same complete dependence on me. He says I ground him.

He cured my fear of rejection. He scratched the itch and relieved the pain. He opened up a new world. I fear nothing.

And I know that this is the start of my new life. I will begin again in new determination; I will become a part of my old life while forming another. I will force my way back in, loudly and vibrantly. I will force others to sit up from their mundane lives and realise that the world has changed. I will finish what I am meant to, and for every moment that I am doing that, my blonde counterpart, second part, second half and equal, will be waiting for me, supporting me.

And then will come yet another stage in my life. One where it is only I and him.

Harry and Draco.

Together and seeing the other. Truly.

Finding release.

Finding peace.

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_When I said that hitting on it was enough and I didn't need reviews, I lied._

_Review._

_RoibenRavus._


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